The Summer Rain
Slanted summer rain whispers outside the window:
long Muse milks a glass udder.
A herd of unpretentious brick cows
munch leaden grass, sadly and quickly.
Our apartment is an envelope with a farewell letter,
with unopened silence.
The silence waits and listens,
but neither of us has said a word yet.
And yesterday’s quarrel, like a wounded lynx
breathes shallow and fast, digs in the unmade bed.
A plaster animal of animated bedsheets.
The old sofa in the kitchen creaks;
The fridge, a rectangular white vampire, makes smacking sounds with its lips.
And rain whispers outside the window.
Summer rain outside.
(translated by Sergey Gerasimov from Russian)
Dmitry Blizniuk is an author from Ukraine. His most recent poems have appeared in The Pinch, Press53, Magma Poetry, The Nassau Review, Havik, Saint Katherine Review, Star 82, Naugatuck River, The Gutter and many others. He was a finalist for 2016 Award Open Eurasia, and The Best of Kindness 2017 (USA). A Pushcart Prize nominee, he is also the author of The Red Fоrest (Fowlpox Press, 2018). He lives in Kharkov, Ukraine.
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